


Well-Made Plans

by mywholecry



Category: National Treasure Series
Genre: Breakfast, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywholecry/pseuds/mywholecry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you think you could find out about another historical conspiracy, soon-ish?” Riley asks, seriously. “I really want to meet Obama.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well-Made Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this scene right after the election in 2008, promptly lost the flash drive it was on, and, having rediscovered it, am now releasing it into the wild in tiny one shot form.

“Do you think you could find out about another historical conspiracy, soon-ish?” Riley asks, seriously. “I _really_ want to meet Obama.”

“I don’t just pull them out on a whim,” Ben murmurs, but he looks amused, smiling into his coffee mug. 

“But could you?”

“No.”

“Could we make one up?” Riley sits back in his chair, staring intently as Ben shakes his head from across the kitchen table. His hair is standing up in the back, his glasses stuck on top of his head, and his attempts to charmingly smile are ruined halfway into a yawn. 

“How late did you stay up forming conspiracy theories?” Ben asks. “I wasn’t awake when you came to bed last night.”

“You weren’t awake when I came to bed _this morning_ ,” Riley replies, grinning as he produces a manila folder from under his chair and slides it over to Ben. He takes it obligingly and flips through the first few pages. 

“Watergate,” Ben says, slowly, “and. . .aliens.”

“The tape they’ve kept under wraps,” Riley says, nodding. “You know I do a good Nixon impression. We could wrap this up in an afternoon, get it in the proper hands before dinner. I’m thinking Red Lobster.” 

“Okay, first of all, I know that you can do _a_ Nixon impression.” Ben closes the folder and sits it slowly on the table. “Second of all, there are so many other routes to go that don’t involve UFOs. So many believable, less crazy routes.”

Riley almost pouts at him. He does that thing with his eyebrows where they knit together and he looks horribly disappointed, like someone just offered him a puppy and then refused to let him pet it.

“You’re just mad that I came up with the plan for once,” he says, under his breath, and he reaches across the table to steal Ben’s coffee because he’s already finished his own.

“Well, this isn‘t a plan. This is, in fact, _fraud_ ,” Ben replies. He‘s only half sure that Riley‘s joking about this, now. “Besides, you could just hack into his Blackberry, track his schedule. . .”

Riley’s eyes widen. 

“I. . .what. . . _no_! I _cannot_ hack into Barack Obama’s Blackberry! I have certain moral values to uphold!” He looks aghast, fingers clutching the table. Ben cuts him off before he can go into some sort of rant on the Moral Code of Geniuses or some other type of creed that Riley probably has on an index card in his wallet.

“We’ve stolen the Declaration of Independence, temporarily kidnapped a president. . .”

“Ben, Ben,” Riley says, shaking his head. “My dearest Ben. I love him. Also, it’s got those crazy spy encryptions now. There’s no way I could get into it.”

“I doubt that,” Ben murmurs, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, face serious. Riley stares back at him for a moment, flustered, maybe a little flattered. 

“I mean, I’m good,” he says, “but I’m not that good.”

“I think you’re just scared,” Ben challenges. 

Riley squints at him before breaking into laughter, sinking into his chair, half disappearing under the table. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” he says. “Are you. . .trying to offend my manly ego? Because they beat that out of me in high school. Along with my self-esteem and chances for a prom date.” 

Since that didn't work, Ben decides to move. The plan to seduce him away from digging a tunnel into the White House was better, anyway. He’s pretty good at the seducing thing.

“I’m sorry for bringing up all those painful memories,” he whispers, pressing fingers against the inside of Riley’s thigh, thumb running over the seam of his jeans. Riley makes a pleased noise and leans down as Ben leans up, sighing into his mouth until suddenly he isn’t.

“Mmph!” Riley says, pulling away, then reconsidering and pulling him in for one more kiss before sitting back down and pushing his chair away from the table. “Stop trying to distract me from my goal!”

“You know. . .” Ben says, standing up and pulling Riley with him, sliding arms around his waist. “Abigail met him. She went to one of the presidential balls last week.”

“I hope you realize that I now have to have her killed,” Riley says, eyes wide and serious. “Out of jealousy. Did she get a chance to dance with him? Wait, I don’t want to know, never mind. . . _so_. You were distracting me?

“Unless you start using the Nixon impersonation,” Ben says, pulling him towards the staircase. “I’ll distract you as long as you want.”


End file.
